"They don't hurt me a bit," she said aloud; "yet they didn't look the
least the shape of my foot."

But her attendants only nodded; and turning round, she saw the cuckoo
waiting for her. He did not speak either, rather to her annoyance, but
gravely led the way through one grand room after another to the grandest
of all, where the entertainment was evidently just about to begin. And
everywhere there were mandarins, rows and rows, who all set to work
nodding as fast as Griselda appeared. She began to be rather tired of
royal salutes, and was glad when, at last, in profound silence, the
procession, consisting of the cuckoo and herself, and about half a dozen
"mandarins," came to a halt before a kind of dais, or raised seat, at
the end of the hall.

Upon this dais stood a chair--a throne of some kind, Griselda supposed
it to be--and upon this was seated the grandest and gravest personage
she had yet seen.

"Is he the king of the mandarins?" she whispered. But the cuckoo did not
reply; and before she had time to repeat the question, the very grand
and grave person got down from his seat, and coming towards her, offered
her his hand, at the same time nodding--first once, then two or three
times together, then once again. Griselda seemed to know what he meant.
He was asking her to dance.

"Thank you," she said. "I can't dance _very_ well, but perhaps you won't
mind."

The king, if that was his title, took not the slightest notice of her
reply, but nodded again--once, then two or three times together, then
once alone, just as before. Griselda did not know what to do, when
suddenly she felt something poking her head. It was the cuckoo--he had
lifted his claw, and was tapping her head to make her nod. So she
nodded--once, twice together, then once--that appeared to be enough. The
king nodded once again; an invisible band suddenly struck up the
loveliest music, and off they set to the places of honour reserved for
them in the centre of the room, where all the mandarins were assembling.

What a dance that was! It began like a minuet and ended something like
the hay-makers. Griselda had not the least idea what the figures or
steps were, but it did not matter. If she did not know, her shoes or
something about her did; for she got on famously. The music was
lovely--"so the mandarins can't be deaf, though they are dumb," thought
Griselda, "which is one good thing about them." The king seemed to enjoy
it as much as she did, t